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Everything fucking sucked.

Even the mountains sucked hot ass.

He walked.

His shoulders hunched, curled, and furrowed. Still stiff, but healing.

Stomping.

Until—

Snap.



The sound of breaking tree roots underfoot, once hidden and buried under foliage. His front left paw plunging down, into, the nest of twisted and gnarled wood.

Fuck, he thought.

Shit.

He was fucking stuck.

He grunted.

Swore, under his breath.

Hot breath curling in tendrils and wisps around his muzzle.

Red eyes narrowed as he stared—glowered—at his own front leg. Ears pressed back.

He twisted.

Pulled.

Felt the burn of threatening to overstretch muscle. Wooden bark threatening to cut and scratch.

And—

“Shit.” He started, panting.



“Fuck.” He ended.

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The ichorwood trees were delightful and Nicolo was glad to have woken here. Perhaps it wasn't as good as he had it back home, but there was Moir, and a couple of new strangers to keep him company, and really, he couldn't ask for much more than that. 

So, unlike the poor stuck boy, Nico thought that nothing sucked. 

Except maybe getting your foot stuck like the blondie had. 

"Oh, dear," he began, brows drawing together as he watched the ordeal. That looked... less than pleasant. Nicolo trotted toward the struggling wolf, indigo eyes widening as he took in the state of him. 

"My, you seem to have gotten yourself in quite the fix," he commented, tilting his head to the side. This boy was larger than he, though that wasn't a difficult feat to accomplish, and had such charming rouge eyes. "Could you use a bit of help, stranger?" 

His eyes glinted nearly imperceptibly. An offer for help from one Nicolo Melonii was dubious at best, but... well, that was the good thing about strangers. They didn't really know the dangers of it all.
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He startled.

Startled, with wild eyes and flashing teeth.

Stopped from lunging only by the pull and catch of his twisted leg, and forced to settle when he realized, no, it wasn’t another one of her fucking cats coming to finish him off or even worse, the witch herself.

No, it was just some fucking fat thing.

Floppy eared, and curly tailed.

Wrong.

He growled.

A warning.

Hackles raised, when he approached.

Trying—wanting—to step backwards to put space between him and the fucking plush motherfucker, and once again limited by his, you know, fucking caught and trapped leg.

He panted.

Huffed.

Hobbled, with only three usable legs.

A dog at the end of its chain.

And—

“No.” He snapped. Breathed.

He was fucking fine.

He just needed some time, and for fucking fatass over there to leave him alone.

Then, he could get himself out.

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Huh. Well, this one sure was reactive, wasn't he? Not that Nicolo minded. Maybe all he needed was some stress relief, and to not have his leg caught in that mess of debris.

A smile spread across his maw and he flounced forward, just a hair out of the trapped boy's grasp, and hummed as he studied the situation. "Ooh, you're a tough guy, aren't you?" he cooed, tail swishing behind him and eyes alight with mischief. Definitely stoking the fire of the other boy's temper, but he didn't really care. This was fun. 

"Go on, then," he offered, tilting his head to the side as he watched him. "Get your leg out, if you're so sure you can do it on your own."
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“Fuck you.” He started.

Panted.

Fucking bastard.

Ears pressed back.

Teeth on display.

All puffed up, like a shocked and startled cat.

He would fucking show him.

He would fucking get himself out.

Hobbling backwards, as far back as his fucking caught and twisted leg would let him get away from the fucking prick, where—

He proceeded to fucking struggle.

Tugging, pulling, and twisting.

And when that didn’t immediately work?

He started pawing at his own fucking leg.

Hobbling.

Teetering.

Toddling.

Balanced, somehow, on his back legs and single foreleg, chest touching dirt.

About to start fucking chewing himself free.

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A smirk crossed his lips at the trapped boy's choice of words. Fuck you.

 "Not for free," he chided suggestively, tail slowly waving back and forth like a banner as he watched the blond struggle with the vice-like entrapment of his forelimb. 

It was entertaining to watch the red-eyed boy try to wrench himself free. So much wriggling and worming and balancing - it would've been kind of impressive, actually, if it hadn't looked so painful. 

He waited, watched, and raised a brow and tilting his head to the side with a content smile. At least, until the boy reached down in a way that looked like he was about to chew his own fucking leg off, rather than just accept help. 

"Would you prefer to walk around with three legs for the rest of your life than let a kind stranger help you?" he asked, no hint of incredulity in his words. It was an honest question - even if he kind of did think this boy was a real dumbass. A really, really cute dumbass, but a dumbass nonetheless. "You don't strike me as the stupid type." He did, actually, but the poor guy didn't have to know that. 

The stranger who was offering to help wasn't necessarily a kind one, either, but the blond didn't need to know that, either.
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‘Not for free.’

What did that even fucking mean?

He grunted.

Ignored him.

Tried to focus on getting himself free, twisting, and pulling, wrapping his jaws around his own leg to help pull and—

Getting interrupted, when shorty kept fucking talking.

He huffed.

Flopping, onto his stomach.

Ears matted back.

“Fuck off.” He muttered.

He wasn’t fucking stupid.

He was just—

Fucking stuck.

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Nicolo managed not to laugh, somehow, and instead settled down on his stomach when the blond seemed to admit defeat. He didn't like being over someone else like that - especially not one that looked so... down. So he decided to put himself at that level, a small smile on his face and actual sympathy in his eyes. 

"Would you prefer I just leave you here, or are you willing to let me help you get your leg free?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. Not commenting on the crass language - nor the fact that this boy only seemed to know a grand total of three words. 

Hopefully he knew an affirmative, because Nico didn't feel right about leaving him there.
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He huffed.

Hackles bristling, and eyes rolling.

Watching, as the smug fucking bastard lowered himself to his height. Inevitable, and mocking.

His ears rolled back against his head.

Unhappy.

His lips smacking.

Suddenly looking anywhere but at him, and—

Pushing himself upright.

Awkward and hobbling with only one usable front leg.

Pulling himself as far back from his own trapped leg as he could.

His tail curling tight around his hindquarters.

He looked into the middle distance.

Watching.

Waiting.

Seeing, if fucking short stack would get the hint, or if he really had to fucking spell it out for him.

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Nicolo wasn't quite sure if the boy's body language meant he was letting him help, or if he was poised to strike, but either way, he could just bounce out of the way of his teeth. No big deal. Even if he did get nipped, what was the worst that could happen?

The wolfdog glanced around until he saw a stick that seemed large enough for what he needed. He padded over with it clamped between his jaws, and carefully pushed the end of it in between the branches that ensnared the poor boy's foot. 

"When I push down on this, you need to pull your foot out really fast," he instructed, placing both forepaws on the stick, and pushed down with as much weight as he could manage. Whether the blond acted in time or not would be up to him.
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He watched without watching.

Listened without listening.

Seeing, from the corner of his eye, when he hesitated.

Then, when he eventually got the stick.

He grunted.

Did as he was told.

Pulling, and stumbling backwards onto his feet. Once caught front paw half-raised to his chest, dangling, sore.

And then stood, wooden.

Tail dead weight between his tail.

Ears still pressed back.

Hackles bristling.

Shifting.

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Nicolo relaxed as the other boy yanked his foot from beneath the sticks, stepping back and letting out a heavy sigh. He offered the blond a small smile, stepping back to give him his space. 

"Your foot was really stuck in there, huh?" he asked, tilting his head to the side with a grin. It faded, however, when he noticed the way he was holding it. "It hurts, though, huh?" 

He hummed softly and offered a wag of his tail. "I'm Nicolo, by the way. Everybody calls me Nico." It was only fair he'd offer his name, wasn't it?
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More words.

More bullshit.

And backwards he stepped, forcing himself to put weight on his front leg, and keeping it there.

Standing, broad shoulders drooping, curving, hunched.

Refusing to look at—what had he said? Nicole?

He huffed.

Curling, curving, inward onto himself.

”Whatever.”

He helped him like he wanted.

What more did he fucking want?

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"What's the matter?" he asked, noting the boy's stance. Was he really hurt, or was he just pouting? It kind of looked to him like a mixture of both of the emotions, to be honest. 

Man, this boy was funny.

He hummed in thought, scanning him over and tilting his head to the side. 

"Are you hungry?"
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Are you hungry?

Seriously, what kind of fucking question was that?

Making him accept his help like it wasn’t fucking embarrassing enough, patronizing him the entire fucking time, and then wondering what was wrong?

If he was fucking hungry?

What was fucking wrong with him?

He huffed.

Scowled.

Looking at him, and bristling.

And—

”No.”

No, he wasn’t fucking hungry. Why the fuck would he be hungry?

He could fucking feed himself.

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Hmmm. This guy was... difficult. But that was okay, because Nico really liked a challenge.

Also, his vocabulary was so incredibly limited. It simply couldn't be that limited - he had to know more words, didn't he? In Nico's opinion, yes. 

"Hmm," he hummed, tilting his head to the side and plastering on a small pout. "Probably can't hunt anyway. What a shame," he fake-lamented, brows drawing together. "Especially with your poor paw hurt like that."
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What the fuck was this?

Some kind of fucking joke, a prank?

“Fuck you.” He snapped. Bristling. Indignant. He wasn’t a damn invalid. “I can fucking hunt.”

And he knew for a fucking fact that shorty could too; motherfucker was fucking round.

And his paw barely even fucking hurt, because he wasn’t, you know, a fucking little bitch.

He had hunted with fucking worse injuries than a twisted paw.

Tch.

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Oh, this guy was just too easy. So pretty but so dumb. Nico's favorite.

His dark purple eyes glinted a bit, amused and delighted that his words had elicited the reaction he wanted. There were a couple ways he could go with this - pity, offering to help, which would probably make the blond leave.

But he didn't seem the type to back down from a challenge. 

"Hmm. I don't believe you," he responded, offering the boy a smirk, his ears perking up. "Can you prove it?"
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What the fuck did he even mean, he didn’t fucking believe him?

Just because he wasn’t a fucking fat-ass like him didn’t mean he didn’t know how to fucking hunt. Didn’t fucking everyone? It was like, basic fucking adulthood shit.

Tch.

Maybe his shitty mom or dad never fucking taught him.

They sure as shit never taught him fucking portion control.

And forward he stepped.

Daunting.

Challenging.

Towering.

Snarling, with hackles raised.

“I can hunt better then you.” Then—

“What do you want me to fucking catch, short stack.”

Shitty fucking dumbass.

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Nico wondered if he truly could hunt better than himself. It wouldn't be hard, really - Nicolo got most of his food through trades and favors, anyway, so he rarely ever needed to hunt. Not that he couldn't, if he had to, but still. He certainly wasn't the best there was. 

He didn't waver as the blond towered over him, fur all fluffed out and cute. All bark and no bite, he presumed. 

"I'll believe it when I see it," he responded with a polite smile - eyes crinkling at the corners. 

The boy hummed, glancing up and off to the side, as if deep in thought. What was he in the mood for, today? Deer would be a struggle, and a mouse would be too easy. Rabbit, then?

"Do you think your hunting skills could snag a rabbit?" he asked, eyes round and innocent as he batted his eyelashes at the larger boy. As though he wasn't fully aware that he was being a manipulative gremlin right now.
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Rabbit.

Pfft.

Fucking easy shit.

Even a shitty fucking puppy could hunt rabbits.

Whatever.

It was his shitty fucking challenge for him to lose, and for him to win.

He stepped back.

Gaze hard.

“Whoever comes back here with the most rabbits wins, shorty.”

Arrogant, and overconfident.

Already moving.

Stepping backwards.

Ready to beat his fucking sorry ass.

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Oh, a challenge, then?

This would be fun. Nico hadn’t expected that, but it lit a competitive fire in his chest that didn’t show up often at all.

”Sounds good to me. If I win, I want you to eat dinner with me. Like a date,” he challenged right back, dark eyes glinting and tail swishing back and forth.

A date with a pretty boy he’d saved from a snare? This would be a great day, if he could just manage it.
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A date.

He scoffed.

Rolling eyes and flattened ears, his back already turned and feet moving.

Whatever.

It wasn’t like his lonely fat-ass was going to actually win.

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Nico could only assume that the silence meant the other boy had accepted the arrangement, but he did kinda storm off before Nico could ask what he wanted if he won.

Oh well. Wasn’t like it mattered anyway - Nicolo Melonii was a man of his word, sometimes, and he’d be down for nearly anything the blond could ask for.

He turned to head on his own way, intending to bring back a dozen rabbits.

———

…He brought back one.

It was a skinny, old thing that didn’t even have a ton of meat on it, and Nico couldn’t help but be disappointed in himself. There was literally no way he’d won the competition, so he could say goodbye to the little date he had set up.

A bit disappointing, but whatever. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.
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Time moved on.

The clock marching forever forward.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Every passing second, every passing breath, every step, leaving him angrier and angrier.

There weren’t any fucking rabbits.

Not a single fucking one.

And yet, he pressed.

His head held low. Nose twitching and nostrils inhaling. All but shoving his face into the ground, and when that didn’t seem to work, turning skyward, his head angled up.

Nothing.

If he didn’t know any fucking better, he would have guessed shorty had already fucking ate them all.

He stomped.

Walking with hunched rolling shoulders and a storm behind his eyes.

His hackles bristling, and tail twitching.

Wanting—wanting—to give it just a few more minutes. A few more yards.

But a bet was a fucking bet, and there was no fucking way he was letting fucking shorty think he was pussying out.

Besides, there was no fucking way the fucking fatass had had any better luck than him, right?

...

He was wrong.

Returning to the clearing empty-mouthed and stormy-eyed, broad shoulders hunched and curling, to find that he had caught one.

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